Where Shall I Wander: New Poems

by John Ashbery

Book Overview

A masterful collection from "the grand old man of American poetry" ( New York Times ) You meant more than life to me. I lived through you not knowing, not knowing I was living. I learned that you... This description may be from another edition of this product.

• Format: Hardcover
• Language: English
• ISBN: 0060765291
• ISBN13: 9780060765293
• Release Date: March 2005
• Publisher: Ecco Press
• Length: 96 Pages
• Weight: 0.65 lbs.
• Dimensions: 0.5" x 6.3" x 9.1"

Customer Reviews

An extremely pleasant surprise.

John Ashbery, Where Shall I Wander (Ecco, 2005) John Ashbery, the Old Man of the Mountains of the L=A=N=G= (okay, that's enough, I'm not spelling out the whole silly thing) movement, has gradually, in his poetry, been sounding more and more like a normal human being over the past forty years. With Where Shall I Wander, Ashbery passes almost fully into the realm of normaldom; there are a few obvious twists that pop up from his irresponsible youth, but when you couch them in such poems as this, one can rationalize them as influences from the dadas, say, or the futurists, rather than the rather senseless stuff Ashbery and his contemporaries turned out for so long. All this is to say, of course, that Where Shall I Wander is not only easily Ashbery's finest book to date, but it's the kind of book that you might be able to hand someone who "doesn't like poetry" and have them come away with it with that "wow, I actually understood that!" look: "Newfoundland is, or was, full of interesting people. Like Larry, who would make a fool of himself on street corners for a nickel. There was the Russian who called himself the Grand Duke, and who was said to be a real duke from somewhere, and the woman who frequently accompanied him on his rounds. Doc Hanks, the sawbones, was a real good surgeon when he wasn't completely drunk, which was most of the time. When only half drunk he could perform decent cranial surgery. There was the blind man who never said anything but produced spectral sounds on a musical saw. " (--from "Interesting People of Newfoundland'") There are times, as in the poem above, when Ashbery has an almost Hayden Carruth feel to some of his work, but the voice is incontrovertibly Ashbery's-- rambling and slightly talky like Carruth's, but with a crotchety feel that's all Ashbery, cod love him for it. Even better, the author photo on the back can be used to scare pets and small children on the train. "Intense" does not begin to describe the look in Ashbery's eyes; either he wants to pull your spleen out with a dull tea spoon and eat it in front of you, or there's a really big chocolate sundae behind you, and Ashbery's going through withdrawal. Either way, it will either fascinate or scare you (and everyone around you). Great stuff, on all counts. While I know Ashbery's reputation precedes him among casual readers of poetry ("difficult" and "Ashbery" were words that for years went hand-in-hand), give the man a chance and pick this up. You will no doubt find yourself more than pleasantly surprised. ****

The Wonders of Wandering: Ashbery's New Poems

It would be easy to review this book in light of Mr Ashbery's pre-eminent position in contemporary American poetry, sprinkling references to the dazzling virtuosity that has filled each of his more than twenty books of poetry. WHERE SHALL I WANDER follows in the sparkling wake of Mr Ashbery's previous books as surely (to borrow his phrase) "as umbrellas follow rain." But there's more to this collection than merely crowning his previous efforts. In WHERE SHALL I WANDER, an awareness of age--and the spirit's stubborn resistance to it--emerge in passages that glide by us, offering up no wisdom, no pat rational answers for a life lived largely in the shadow of a mountain of experience. In the end, what holds these poems together, despite their inherent intent to separate, is the reader, and this permits each of us to identify with the author in ways no other poet permits. Much has been made of Mr Ashbery's obscurity and impersonality. But, as time goes by and Mr Ashbery's ouvre increases, he has emerged as neither obscure nor impersonal. In WHERE SHALL I WANDER, he is just the opposite, registering the queer particulars of our post-modern world so deeply that each poem moves us in ways that defy explication. The amazing result--far from frustration--is a delight and elation unique in modern (and post-modern) poetry. ...Like all good things life tends to go on too long, and when we smile in mute annoyance, pauses for a moment. Rains bathe the rainbow, and the shape of night is an empty cylinder, focused at us, urging its noncompliance closer along the way we chose to go. As far as I'm concerned, what is conveyed in Mr Ashbery's new book is wisdom enough for a lifetime--his own or anyone's.